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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080013">Did it get old for you?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillinblossom/pseuds/far%20away%20and%20home%20made'>far away and home made (stillinblossom)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2008 Malex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, I will add more tags as we go, M/M, the missing 10 years</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:46:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillinblossom/pseuds/far%20away%20and%20home%20made</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The missing 10 years, most of which weren't missing at all.</p>
<p>Starts at 2008 and moves forward.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Guerin &amp; Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Did it get old for you?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex’s feet hit the damp grass and he stayed low, his breath bated, until he was sure there was no movement from inside the house. The first time he snuck out of the house past curfew he was 12 or 13 years old, and he did it having nowhere in particular to be and no one to see. Just to see if he could, or perhaps to make sure he had a way out. The fear of being caught out and punished made for a sloppy execution, a terrible landing and a limp from a sprained ankle that he had tried and failed to mask in front of his father the next day. That little adventure had led to him once again becoming intimately acquainted with the worn leather belt at the back of his father’s closet. He never stumbled on the landing again.</p>
<p>Now he had somewhere to be and someone to see, and he had the art of sneaking out his second story window down to a tee. It had stopped raining by now, but the ground was still wet with it. Alex sent a little prayer to a god he had stopped believing in years earlier, around the time that his mom had left them, and his dad decided he needed a more hands-on approach to teaching Alex what a man should be. <i>Please, let Michael be close by, and not in the middle of the desert curled up in the back of his truck, wet, miserable and alone.</i></p>
<p>He felt elated when he rounded the last house on the street and saw the familiar truck in the distance. Picking up his pace, he almost ran the last few yards. He knocked quietly at the hood of the truck, whispering “Guerin” before he rounded the truck and peered through the window. The night was at its darkest, but the moonlight was enough to make out the curled-up form on the seat, a mop of curls sticking out from under a blanket. Alex opened the car door quietly, carefully pushing a stray curl away from Michael’s face before brushing his lips to his forehead. His heart ached with how deeply exhausted Michael looked, even in deep sleep. He almost felt bad for putting his hand on Michael’s shoulder and jostling him slightly, but Alex had come here for a reason after all, and it wasn’t just because he desperately wanted to spend every waking – and sleeping – moment of his time with the boy. </p>
<p>Long eyelashes fluttered softly over paper thin skin before Michael fully woke up, apprehension making way for a soft look that Alex suspected mirrored his own. </p>
<p>“Hey, I brought some food, you hungry?” </p>
<p>Michael probably tried to look less eager by merely nodding and pushing himself up to a sitting position, but Alex saw the way his eyes hungrily tracked Alex’s movement as he opened the paper bag and took out a couple of sandwiches, some fruit and a bar of chocolate. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but it was what little he could sneak out without his father getting suspicious. Being the youngest of four brothers, dinners had consisted of the type of sharp elbows that Alex wasn’t born with, and he’d adjusted to getting the last serving, no seconds. It didn’t matter that he was now the only one of his brothers still living at home – suddenly going for seconds and finding ways to sneak portions away from the table would’ve easily raised his father’s suspicions. His father knew that “that foster rat” – Alex felt a rage he had never before felt hearing his father call Michael that – lived in his truck. He had seen Alex around Michael enough times for him to make the connection, and Alex couldn’t risk that. Hanging around with Michael had already earned Alex multiple lessons about the type of company a future army man should keep, and even more bruises when Alex hadn’t heeded those lessons. Still, his bruises were nothing compared to the prize <i>Michael</i> had had to pay for hanging around Alex. It made acid rise up the back of Alex’s throat just thinking about it, but by some miracle Michael still wanted Alex beside him. Still wanted his hands on him, his lips on his skin, even with the pain Alex had brought upon him. </p>
<p>Michael dug into the first sandwich, scooting over on the car seat and patting the space beside him. He smiled softly when Alex lifted himself up into the truck to curl up next to him. Tucking his face against Michael’s shoulder, Alex felt his heartrate drop as he breathed in the scent of motor oil, leather and summer rain that he had come to associate with Michael. Alex never usually realised how hard his heart had been hammering until times like these, when he was alone with Michael and away from his father’s hard and watchful gaze. </p>
<p>“Three weeks, huh?” Michael sighed. The low timbre of his voice gave away his sadness, but there were no hard edges to his words, not anymore. They’d already had their fights about this. Alex had pleaded with Michael about rethinking his decision to bypass the UNM scholarship and instead stay in Roswell, claiming he needed to be there for Isobel. Michael had screamed himself hoarse at Alex about his, or rather his father’s, plan to enlist. Neither were going to sway the other, and they’d reached a painful but mutual understanding that they could either fill their last few weeks with fighting or they could make the most of the time. So far making the most of it had mostly consisted of exploring each other’s bodies, but tonight felt different.</p>
<p>“I was thinking” Michael continued when Alex didn’t react other than by resituating himself so that his ear was now pressed against Michael’s chest, “that we could get out of town when Sander pays me at the end of the week. Go see a movie somewhere other than at the drive-in, go out to eat at an actual restaurant, maybe even try to sneak into a bar with those fake ID’s Max got me.” </p>
<p>Alex lifted his head a little, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. </p>
<p>“Like a date?” he asked, something wild fluttering in his belly in a way that was probably ridiculous given that he and Michael had been sneaking around for the better part of a year, during which time none of them had even looked at other people. They were probably as steady as they could be while still hiding from the world, but the idea of an honest to god date still terrified and thrilled Alex in equal measures. </p>
<p>“Yes, like a date, you dork.” </p>
<p>Michael guided Alex’s head back to rest against his chest, the gentle thump of his heartbeat and his idle fingers running through Alex’s hair calming the flutter in his belly, turning it into a quiet but warm buzz. What Michael suggested sounded like heaven, but- </p>
<p>“I thought we’d agreed that you should be spending that money on a new sleeping bag and a rain tarp. And then saving towards that Airstream?”</p>
<p>“No, that was you, I never agreed to that. I want to spend it on you.” Michael paused for a second, before adding, “on <i>us</i>.”</p>
<p>The fluttering in Alex’s stomach would be back if it wasn’t for the painful reminder that Alex would once again be leaving Michael without a roof over his head. He had tried giving him that, and it’d backfired spectacularly. Now Michael was back on square one, but with a messed up, painfully broken hand on top of everything else, courtesy of Alex.</p>
<p>“I don’t wanna have to go away not knowing if you’ll have shelter from the rain, or if you can keep warm when it gets colder.”</p>
<p>Michael must have sensed the desperation behind Alex’s words, because the hand that had been carding through his hair dropped down to Alex’s neck, squeezing softly. </p>
<p>“Okay. It’s okay, you’re alright. Sanders says I’m doing good, I’ve got more work lined up at the auto shop. He’ll let me move on from oil changes to some more advanced stuff. When I get next week’s paycheck I’ll make sure to buy those things, and then I’ll start saving every penny, okay? By the time you get leave from the army, you can come home to me, and we’ll be warm together in the Airstream.”</p>
<p>“Air Force.” Alex muttered. “Not the army.”</p>
<p>“Air Force, whatever. Same thing.” Alex couldn’t see, but he could practically hear Michael roll his eyes.</p>
<p>“No, not the same thing. Less people get shipped home in boxes in the Air Force.”</p>
<p>Michael’s hand on his neck tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled, loud and shaky in the stillness of the truck. </p>
<p>“That’s not funny” he said gruffly. </p>
<p>“I know,” Alex whispered. It really wasn’t, none of this was. Michael didn’t know just how <i>not funny</i> it was when his father had picked up the hammer, weighing it in his hand while he looked Alex dead in the eye and explained that if he ever embarrassed him again with Michael, he wouldn’t be aiming for his hand this time. After that, Alex had robotically done his best to act like the model son his father wanted him to be. Yes, he would enlist. No, he wouldn’t be seen with Michael again. No, he won’t embarrass his father anymore, won’t flaunt his “proclivities”. Yes, <i>sir</i>. The beatings all but stopped, his father’s mission complete once he’d seemingly beat Alex into submission, and Alex had never hated his father more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title: First day of my life by Bright Eyes</p></blockquote></div></div>
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